“You are a cynosure and I a modest demure man,
I cannot be accordant with the crowd you have,
You a cynosure beauty of elegance and wonders,
A woman of higher standards and I very simplistic,

Can such a person take interest in me what may it be,
Is she mindlessly judging me as an equitable man?
By sweet emotions thoughts reflected as irises burgeon,
From her head to toes I kept on admiring this divinity,

Is her heart for love that like a thorn with no rose?
Or mitotically lovely when in love as seen before all,
She would not be able to conform to me it would be I,
Could my simplistically standards sway her to me,

But why do I blame myself that she took a liking to me,
I imagine her hands touch the earth and the roots dilate,
Sprite knows deep quintessence of water and the earth,
We then conjugate together like an equation of loam”
By A. Guzaldo 07/21/2018 ©

Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.

Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner

Martin Narrod  just now
I started working on a comment in response to "Filling A Bottle With A Tundish"

Sadly I must admit, that even for an American with a college degree, who is a self-proclaimed non-Philistine that grew up in a suburb of Chicago, IL. Where I'm from I've been told is much like some parts of Sussex(I believe it's Sussex), my friend Lili Wilde described it to me on an occasion.

So I must say martin, that for having a voracious appetite for language, language of all sorts, from **** to sin, to cinephile to cynosure, pulchritude to tup, exsuphlocate to masticate, irate, irk, perfervid, wan ewes thwapping their tails, nearly stridulating like the cricket in the thistle. The advanced undulate troche of domesticated shadows, and the sesquipedelien dulciloquent surreptitious diction and other floccinaucinihilipilification and tomfoolery about.

martin, please do tell me what a 'Tundish" is? If you haven't yet, there is a phenomenally interesting reverse dictionary, entitled onelook.com/reversedictionary , and quite contrary as it may seem, and for all the Virginia & Leonard Woolf I enjoy reading, especially his somewhat innocuously underrated novella he wrote, I also read with extraordinary gratitude Ted Hughes's The Birthday Letters, Take of a Bride Groom, The Complete Works, Sylvia Plath's Unabridged Journals, Ariel, Johnny Panic, Ariel, and other poems by writer Richard Matthews. I am still unfamiliar with this word, Tundish. Online dictionaries don't give the best explanation.

As I was mentioning earlier. The OneLook Dictionary-Reverse, will let you for example, search: beach sand. And in response it will give you up to thousands and thousands of word which relate to those two words, together, seperately, and opposing each other. Such as: water, swell, wave, arenose, peat, dirt, seagull, Pacific Ocean, suntan, bikini, The Beach Boys, vitrify. It's very fun indeed. From one Martin to another, I hope you'll stay in touch. I'm excited about your work!

Best Regards

Martin

P.S. The text below is the original message I typed before learning that my presumptions of you being Anglican were correct. Have a great day!

Another Martin, YES! How exquisite, I've never met another one. I have so many questions I barely know where to start. I love marigolds, nose-bags with oats, and as I started feeling the essences if equus and what lurking prurient pedagogy for the didactic zoology that took me and the mind of me to wonder perhaps if though I am quite certain(though not 100%) that your native tongue is English, but using that ridiculous skill-set of immense benality I seem to someone have, am I wrong for asking dear Martin, are you from Scotland or Wales, or maybe even from a country where you learnt English as a native tongue but it's your secondary language?

As aforementioned, there are a plethora of questions that this runnel of sludge and dross that've now arisen in the turpidity of your antiquary of delightful speech. To whomever invited me to play along in the debauchery, and dance merrily with merriment, mine younger docile succubus's slendering beside me, puking up their tissue paper and vegetable soup, so that my pretty girls can fit into Size 2 TuTu's, and learnedly imprison themselves into the tatterdemalion of portentously lurid self-****** and abuse. , and the opprobrious trollop-gossip the gaggle of my skinny victim women eschewing food groups, in order to appeal to my conservative eyes, thrice the child's wild idling to absorb the rancor of their stoic and noisome sedentary lifestyle in the polluted sudatorium that I myself don't use, but that these nonparticular Philistines would serve as Surf & Turf with glazed Christmas Hams for the Hebrews to eat, and another sad storm surge on another deserted quay of sea sands, and our vessel and our deserters, worshipping the Virunga, sacrificing the ghost skeletons of the million year old ape. So I ask you. If even you're capable of expressing yourself under the maddening yet advesperating evening listening to Miles Kane and The Arctic Monkeys, followed by listening to Black Sabbath play Fairies Wear Boots while we drink our childhoods free of the rod and **** the war out of our teenage girlfriends. And in the morning when awoken by the sound of Sopwith Camels arriving on the early, frost-strewn milky, azure-banded stripes of moonlit ecstasy that make for this unquantifiable gesture of succinct believers driving in Summer get stopped for blowing a rice-white swiveling consortium of dishonest affair rivaling ****** addicts, with hummus, plastic bags, and forks in their sphincters, while they autoerotically asphyxiate themselves in a plastic knockoff Mickey Mouse hat, and a Pirates of the Carribbean bandana wrapped around the ***** eyed nightmare of having unsuccessfully sedated a 400-lb crabby, Lowland living-room Silverback Gorilla. More than a primate and a prostate exam. It's like posthumously straining to push tingling 119° Vaseline through the grey and white coffee stirrers which spilled all over the floor while I was saying goodbye to our daughter, while also explaining to you why it's so important to me you love me back enough so that everyone has enough of a grasping glint at understanding yourself, that in managing to reason the arithmetic of such a conundrum and confusing calamity, a phone call free of dial tone happens to be surrendered to an independent Christian organization of the state while myself and my wife's two sons, our sons, Thomas and James, have enough free time from complaining to hire an attorney to disclose the arraignment reiterated by both legal council, city council, and the Screenwriters Guild of counsellors struggling from methamphetamine addiction.

Peace Be With You.

Martin Narrod
martin.narrod@gmail.com

checking potent aftershock
observing seismic anniversary
checking another tremor
resuming constrained writing

annexing hidebound constituents
hugging incoming eschatologies
fighting pervasive insomnia
battling invasive fatigue

damning incompetent fools
awaiting furtive escape
abandoning corporate wasteland
summoning celestial syzygy

detesting spaghetti code
protruding riparian dolphin
establishing unilinear escritoire
glowing cybernetic cynosure

avoiding eternal invisibility
supporting valued customer
performing lexical gymnastics
scrooping notification sounds

restoring usual happiness
glorifying darkwave fanfares
collapsing old relationships
raising ambient awareness

defining wolf people
propagating yesteryear's spectre
achieving hemispheric virality
testing weekend legerity
installing iron curtain

propagating today's spectre

developing niche audiences
transmitting abstract propaganda
disappearing thought experiments
overusing various condiments

double-checking hyper-real emotions
rubbernecking celestial explosions
observing splendid holiday
exploding volcano day

erupting bucolic mountain
disrupting hectic shouting
perfecting suggestive triptychs
checking festive pyrotechnics

drifting across multiverse
regifting glossy paperwork
writing six-lined hexagrams
liking two-toned instagrams

recalling pygmalion sculptures
brawling tatterdemalion cultures
"rambling corporate shill
rattling rapid prosody"
"battling hamburger hill
ambling hundredth library"
"sensing ideological schism
pending guttural neologism"

glowing verdant background
foreshadowing palmyra takedown
developing geopolitical mess
geminating quasi-couplet stress

"hugging cultural diversity
shrugging irrational adversity"

distancing spooky raindrops
avoiding potential burnout
implementing lexical databank
approaching crash-scene sudser

becoming increasingly selective
escaping tyrannical bureaucracy
perpetuating cut-throat capitalism
purchasing contrived happiness
incorporating chance elements
relaxing rigid structures
reheating your retweet

holding theoretical design
smiling beach life
scrutinizing eternal simulation
rushing artificial apothegm
annexing facetious document
freaking creepy centipedes

writing neural structure
congratulating yestreen's warriors
encouraging seatbelt usage
boosting abstract setting
sensing frivolous ochlocracy

keeping hypothetical metropolis
blurring metaphorical æsthetic
scrutinizing computational festival
memorializing towel day

raising six-fingered paw
eternizing fragment schedule
liking subtextual repository
quoting quintessential quidnunc

finding ideological style
disregarding their slovenliness
planning spatial factoid
spinning glacial ellipsoids

enjoying eternal spreadsheet
deleting repetitive tweet
awaiting festival lineup
gainsaying unethical startups

observing turgid experiment
contemplating conniving contrivances
enjoying dynamic project
dropping two-toned simulation
finding harmonic space
finalizing warring cavaliers

detecting enigmatic apathy
retrieving potential exchange
meddling middling muddling
baking hypnagogic pizza

spinning galactic dinosaur
building trans-pacific partnership
finishing theoretical mission
giggling agog googlers

crashing atypical tessellation
cherishing precious hexagons
proliferating western lottery
cretaceousing funkaholic skeletor

blurring turgid gallery
cancelling tsunami warnings
extemporizing incoherent neologisms
transmitting harmonic rave

gliding black hawks
hiding quacked ducks
archiving animated light
googling moonbow imagery

ignoring relatable messages
observing unfinished world
generating optional content
continuing exponential growth

Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia
The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony
Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes,
Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus
To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee
Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry.

That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured
Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta,
Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition,
And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly
Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity
Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth
To untimely half the yellow Sun
That juxtaposed planet of poetry
Behind the star of tribe as a priority
Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated,
in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis.

Ever predated on when tribes form nations.
A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins
Of white humanity, battling cynosure
Historically evinced in Antony and his father,
Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio,
Or Macbeth and counterparts
Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother,
As the white blood cells of the white blood,
Militantly attack the white corpuscles
Of the misfortunate chimpanzee,
Converting the later into
A chewer of misfortune.

To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.

By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.

I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.

When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.

I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.

Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.

~
Lost inside a labyrinth

Tight-lipped tinkerer
open-mouthed cynosure

Pressing matters completing their circuit
all things said, but not spoken

Osculated locution, succinct phrasing
released, but not heard

The human element imparting
seminal spark
—together felt and touched

A tingling syntax
owing to its art
becoming its nucleus
~

Not against the peaks of protest, these aurulent banners and jasperated jaspe so so jargoon! It's like I was suddenly alive, beat-stretched out of winter neige and into the pancosmic blisses of bright and ebullient spring, plugged with an agromania to abide this new formidable friend in the aeviternal beauty of she and I togetherness. Never to spill a morsel of a minute away from us again, upon the newly conjured spirits unto us both. To be amidst a cynosure of such affiation, to be in the temperate or tropical gardens whispering about our mutual love for flowers nad lists. This that precedes us, bright colliding auras in this newfound numinous kindling of us two. Watching it, making it happen- it unfolding before me made me naseaus with excitement, dithering what our next move out to be. I just wanted to kiss her face, her cheeks, put our hands together so quickly, just to let our amorous fug fill the room with silver albuminious smoke from our breaths. Miles below this, round the Earth to other places, there are the fixtures of bright and corybantic life commoved by other nations and other poised people of the light, that I should not be idle in my desires to usher myself into this grand and briguing introduction. So she said, we will play the question game, the inquiry game, we will state the mark, draw upon deep and fantastical recall, bring from our minds the most immense truths and share them, no matter now feral, or caustic, or melancholy- they will be shared until we explode with each other, our intrigues wrapped in our perfervid and amatory excitedness for one another. Too vast with wonder to be afraid of- am I such a fiend for such resplendence. That we could be vitrified in eternity in a veil of fulgurite. So at this nightfall, this acronychal of bloviating bliss, to write and wonder, incessantly in the finest of provincial matters to settle this garden where Thetis lives to be of her, two philocalists in verdant pasture, heaped with matters of the pen and the palm, in the droves of this beautiful advesperating eve- where first I wrote to you, and then I wrote you back.

The oceans’ froth betrothed to lunatic scoff
The sublunary elegance of a subdued earthen cough
Infectious pulchritude conjures snow-globe turpitude
Defiant humility professes to know the rudeness of the crude
Distilled casually in a leery trance
Terpsichorean choreography of a hallowed prance
Callow scowls affix the hebetude of anger to the sauciness of banter
Gallant cavalries court the cult of she and enamor and enchant her
Foretold calamities proceed like clockwork from God’s destructive jaundice
Death deployed as a sententious homily of wraiths that taunt us
At every turn fatidic inspirations work to cement a known outcome
Averted gaze away from rampant gays and fire-and-brimstone bunkum
We cherish a world where the stodgy and outmoded monopolize choice considerations
Where hedonism abreast of asceticism are internecine intimidations
Suffer like Christ and buffer like tenacious poverty sustained by rice
Dare to glower with menacing insistence at the known outcome of errant dice
Soothsayers soothe prayers but cataclysm still dares
To pulverize innocent insouciance and become the cynosure of trepidation and stares
Heaven blares a deafening “obey” while hell stays silent to lure the prey
Hobnob with hobgoblins and expect opprobrium to park and stay
Gentility and class-divisions orchestrate a frozen system of tenacious prisons
Stalking the lifeblood of mainlined ecstasies and surgical incisions
Minority Report within the grasp of the majority uproar
Dalliance with a self-fulfilling time means there will always be a bout between Bush and Gore
Lecherous eyes prize a hedged bush and irascible lies seek copious gore
But because the bush ensconces the ****** in bed with China the twin towers imploded for common core
Mondegreens serenade a mistaken flirtation with a time traversed and mastered
Swelling tides hearken the moon to make a hypothetical bonanza out of disaster
Enumerated infinity within esoteric grasp and pandered sequester
Bedazzled of foreknowledge  it charters the uncharted exploitation faster and faster
Burgeoning funds entertain a mind cloistered by infamy and oppressed by indecency
Burbling puns ecstatic about the perpetuity of guns hector the province of a token leniency
Squander the day and indulge the night by knowing exactly the demise of every shooting star
Knowing the origin and legacy of every single scar
Knowing the path creates the path known
Every single stock you know you should with alacrity own
Prosperous kinship and insubordinate brinksmanship win the prejudiced award
Fencing with lethal intent the specter of death devolves into irenic accord
Envy the impregnable corporate machine and its unassailable pipe dream
Hunt the Wolfs of Wall Street until panic evolves into cacophony of screams
Democratization of prophecy will cue the most titanic robbery
Shills looking for upstart thrills will pretend an unwarranted snobbery
Paradox is impossible because every moment elapsed is indelible and irrevocable
Every frisson of love is fertile and impregnable
So rejoice that the masters of the clock invest in select stocks
And hope that parcels of secrecy tumble from the 1919 White Sox
Emerald Street knows When the Music ‘s Over
Brandished crumbs adorned with sportive panache clothed in a lucky clover
Deprived of snide tithes and the confessions of millions protest a catholic cabal of universalism draped in quaint overalls
Mock the hegemony of the sailing class and their brisk and copious squalls
Opulent scions vouch for the failsafe prerogatives of Zion
Sleeping awake we indulge the oneiromancies of Orion
Cinematic wonders regale glorified eavesdropped blunders
Until the secrecy of the machine is so conspicuously in sight it tears the elected pantheon asunder
A master race of an intelligent nepotism in denial of its own disgrace
Exploits the argosy of secrets of the flying-disked race
But one day a challenger like a rooster will orient the demotic vogue towards the treasure trove
And pirates will prosper in burgeoning droves
Myths foisted will debunk themselves as eternity preens its chosen wealth
Even the most furtive endeavors will have to equip even more stealth
That day will prompt an arms race and a worms race
To burrow beneath the chasms of malcontent and adopt and insular embrace
They billow now with toxicity and malignancy
Even death will have alternative contingencies
The resplendent future will capture the common heart
For the accumulated wisdom of words will make us infinitely more smart

Her syllogisms repose trust in her adept beleaguering of unworthy opponents.
Constantly in a state of lassitude for this desultory, inure world of the insouciant youth which dwells upon it's cathartic terrain, she engages not in lachrymose nor is she crestfallen for the hope of romance and it's everlasting ineffability.
She is a fugacious moment of frisson embodied in a human form; a juxtaposition of the serendipitous moments that ever constantly come one after the other in a fickle wheel of steep highs and deep lows. All her life, this girl will lilt through the crossroads of her obstacles and show the world the efflorescence of her beauty. Hush don't speak lest you miss hearing the mellifluous music of her voice of fail to hear the lagniappe that is her name.
She is the cynosure of human attention, the goddess and we are but her humble servants. She is innocence most rare, love most coveted. She is infinite. She is peace.

Ingénue, Ingénue
mellifluous intonation;
within my ear
intangible embrocation!

Emollient to my inure
lithe and lilt affections-
A panacea, a talisman
fetching provocation.

Ingénue, Ingénue
Why must you fall
into such fugacious
dalliances?

Becoming and comely
are you
The cynosure of men
dissembling by demure

Ingénue, Ingénue
how easily I imbue
sempiternal scintilla
into naive little you

Lo, during my brooding-
arrive in halcyon gambol,
Dulcet or Saccharine
Is it me or you?

Ingénue, oh Ingénue
an epiphany, so true
a furtive labyrinthine
past the offing of you

None so opulent
cast more than penumbra.
T'would simply be Pyrrhic
to go on, continue.

That was the first time
that words weren't able to describe
the beauty
that was before me.

Words couldn't describe how I felt.

When I looked at him,
I forgot about everything.

The world melted around me
while I just lied next to him.

I forgot about everything.

I forgot about the things I love,
the things I hate.

I forgot about the world
outside of that room
and everyone in it.

I forgot to worry about
how I haven't called my father lately,
my ceaseless to-do lists in the desk drawer,
or the cherry blossoms in Virginia.

But I didn't care,
because I didn't know.

I had forgotten.

It's funny how all these lovely things
that you usually use
to block out the ugly thoughts
suddenly become meaningless
when you succumb to one single amazing thing.

When you hone in on that one amazing thing,
nothing else matters.

He made the sun look boring.

He made the universe seem worthless.

As I was lying next to him,
I had decided that,
if given the option,
I would rather stay in bed all night with him
to watch him wake up in the morning
than ever see a single cherry blossom in Virginia
ever again.

Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation

Hence loathèd Melancholy
  Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,
In Stygian Cave forlorn
  ‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy.
Find out som uncouth cell,
  Where brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-Raven sings;
  There, under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Rocks,
As ragged as thy Locks,
  In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But com thou Goddes fair and free,
In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To Ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as som Sager sing)
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,
Zephir with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on Beds of Violets blew,
And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew,
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksom, blith, and debonair.
  Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathèd Smiles,
Such as hang on ****’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrincled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Com, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastick toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crue
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreprovèd pleasures free;
To hear the Lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-towre in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to com in spight of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine.
While the **** with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darknes thin,
And to the stack, or the Barn dore,
Stoutly struts his Dames before,
Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn
Chearly rouse the slumbring morn,
From the side of som **** Hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Som time walking not unseen
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,
Right against the Eastern gate,
Wher the great Sun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames, and Amber light,
The clouds in thousand Liveries dight.
While the Plowman neer at hand,
Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land,
And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the Mower whets his sithe,
And every Shepherd tells his tale
Under the Hawthorn in the dale.
Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures,
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren brest
The labouring clouds do often rest:
Meadows trim with Daisies pide,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.
Towers, and Battlements it sees
Boosom’d high in tufted Trees,
Wher perhaps som beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two agèd Okes,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savory dinner set
Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her Bowre she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead,
Som times with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the Chequer’d shade;
And young and old com forth to play
On a Sunshine Holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pull’d the sed,
And he by Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,
To ern his Cream-bowle duly set,
When in one night, ere glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend,
And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of dores he flings,
Ere the first **** his Mattin rings.
Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep.
  Towred Cities please us then,
And the busie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies
Rain influence, and judge the prise
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace, whom all commend.
There let ***** oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique Pageantry,
Such sights as youthfull Poets dream
On Summer eeves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonsons learnèd Sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde,
And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linckèd sweetnes long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that ty
The hidden soul of harmony.
That Orpheus self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear
Such streins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regain’d Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

Bellowing trumpets call the palace to order and servants,
Dressed from head to toe in exquisite lace,
Promptly wave their lush palmetto leaves while the Pharaoh
Ambles domineeringly down the marble corridor.

Though the floor rattles at the cries of enemy soldiers
Penetrating the once impregnable palace walls,
The mighty Cleopatra, exuberant in both beauty and intelligence,
Maintains a powerful, dignified forbearance.

Immune to cowardly apprehension petrifying those surrounding her,
The Pharaoh relies on only her brooding heart to guide her.
Though her once opulent eyes scorch in melancholy,
They look onward toward the cynosure of her existence.

Clad in dense armor, Mark Antony clasps his sword resiliently,
Pacing nervously back and forth throughout his room
At the thought of the danger soon to overtake him.
His breath hangs heavy on the seaside air.

Antony’s complexion brightens at the sight of alluring lover,
And he releases his guard, opening his arms as she approaches.
Shouting erupts from the neighboring corridor
Though neither he nor Cleopatra discern the enveloping chaos.

As Roman soldiers zealously round the corner and overtake the lovers,
Waving their weapons high in hopes of slaughter,
The couple’s lips merge together as one,
Producing an everlasting bond that no sword could sever.

"Boots for sale . Boots for sale.
Who will buy my beautiful boots?
They are crafted with broken hands,
Designed individually, beautiful boots."

"What is the price of these beautiful boots
Crafted so carefully with broken hands."
"The price is a pure heart within a dead body
Resurrected, clean, by the Blood of the Lamb."

"What will I do with these boots you are selling me?
Where will they take me, all washed in this Blood?
They will take you to mountains all craggy, majestic.
They'll never wear out till you complete the job."

"And what is the job I must do with these boots on me?
Where are these mountains that soon I must climb?"
"These mountains are everywhere. Cast your eyes round you.
Their summits are glorious, their victory sublime.

It's you who must yearn for them, cry for them, live for them,
You who must ***** up them breathing your fire,
You who must plant our flags right on the crest of them,
Make them the cynosure of human desire.'

'How can I yearn for them, cry for them, live for them,
***** up their rocky tracks yet breathing fire.
How can I carry a great waving flag up them
Too many enemies . Think I'll retire.'

"You're not a Jonah. I bred you for greater things.
I'll deal with enemies they're in my hands.
Yours is the task just to excel in holiness -
Every wee part of it. Holiness stands!

Simply draw near to Me. History is in my heart.
Use your great talents and display My name.
Hide not your trust in Me. Speak it out joyfully.
Just be ye perfect and true without shame.

These boots will not wear out. They'll reach the mountain peaks.
Seven tall mountains you'll claim for the flag.
Look at the enemy. They'd like what you have!
So you can give it them. More to be had.

But don't plagiarize my Name, hide the annointing.
Shout from the rooftops that JESUS IS LORD!
Do not pretend My blood can be rejected
While yet all My blessings are cutely absorbed.

This is the lie that all men must face up to.
I am the Truth that will light up the way.
You are the torches I chose from eternity
You are the ones who will light up the day.

You are the troopers who'll take every mountain.
You will not flinch before death. It is dead!
You climb those mountains and take them for Jesus
The bridegroom who's coming so soon to be Head.

These are the mountains I've named for the taking.
Media first, moved by terror and fear.
You will redeem it by truthful reporting
And seeing the visions that Jesus holds dear.

Second is Government. Take its high places.
Don't be afraid of its big brother frown.
Third, Education, the heart of our children
Who need, above all things, in Truth to be grown.

Fourth are the Finances. Greed is the notion.
But Greed will fall heavily as giants do.
Fifth, Celebrations need Life at their centre,
And this is rejoicing with hearts pure and true.

Sixth is the Mountain of Family Unity,
Bleeding and tearing our children apart.
Fire of the fathers will take on this mountain
While mothers' sweet gifts set the family heart.

Last is that towering mountain, Religion,
That covers the truth with it's layer of lies.
Hear what the Spirit is telling the prophets
And see what he'll do with his wonderful spies!"

The spies of the Spirit are those who see Heaven,
Who hear and declare what the Father wants known.
THEY SAY A TSUNAMI OF HEAVEN'S LOVE IS COMING
TO WIPE OUT DECEPTION AND PLANT HEAVEN'S THRONE.

You are a room with no corners.
A cynosure within my mind’s eye.
Ineffable emotions you imbue in me.

I am restless for your

touch

skin

smile.

I feel a penumbra of your spirit trailing behind every step I take;
grateful for your petrichor effect at the ending of my days.

Untoward emotions
cascading and clashing
knocking me down

each and every time
you loom into my mind.

I do drugs everyday
To keep the memory tied to the dock
With tangled ropes and threatening weather
"There's a storm rolling in."
But I would never find you
Unless I was sober
Because when I think about the way
Your tongue tasted with mine
I get high anyways
And how your flesh feels
When it combines with mine
My core becomes numb
And how your smile
Lit up my bedroom for the first time all year
I missed it later that night
When the light switch refused to work
You bring me something
That I've never seen before
You have the key to a door
That I've been trying to open all my life
And for the first time
I'm not scared to fall
I am only afraid
That I will not be caught

there are bystanders
and there are activists,
the ones who care enough
to attempt some futile rebellion
by taking a seat on the wrong side
of the couch.
it doesn't sound like much,
but it is.

lately,
your hands are always
on that bottle of glue.
I guess it's better
than a bottle
of something else.

look at me,
the famished beggar
quenched and grateful
and silent
in consumption.

I do take hold of it
and clutch it in my palm
even if you can't see it.

and then, the impact.
it comes quickly
in lambent fractals
an unsettling, gleaming mess
of lightheadedness
and holds me in paralysis.

It doesn't belong to me.
it never did.
and there is still that guilt
buried deep within;
it howls in the night
and whispers incessantly
in the afternoons.

it is dry gluttony
incarnate in the hardest
of gazes, of nights in indigo
and in the softest
of ratted fabrics.

look, I remembered for once.
that's a step
in the right direction
but I've still got so far to go.

don't you know
you have so little time,
in the blink of an eye,
the flutter of a lash
you'll be insipid ash.

you've got to go
it's better you're blinded
by crimson sand and salt
than you stay and wait
for a hurricane.

the torrents, these downpours
but we all stay the same --
we refuse to move away
from the shore.

She is
The heart of poetry,
The cynosure in art,
The spirit of love
That renews honesty.
More precious than
Jewels of God,
mesmerising
arch angels in the centre of heaven having more love than two hearts combine, she's alive and so are we as she imbues us with her life.

The roof is only a foundation, the sky above our heads is the ground beneath her feet and still she is down to earth.

The sun reside within her chest, glistering as she stands, with eyes made of pearls gaze into them and witness fields of elation emerge,where harmony is the ying and melody the yang.

You planted galaxies inside me when we met
and now they're pouring out of my mouth,
stretching their curled limbs skyward from
the abyss of my stomach; they travel
up and up across the expanse between us
and down your throat like some sort of
invisible (and magnetic) parasite.

One:
Brown eyes remind me of Chernobyl,
                        but on you,
I see the Wilson Park Ice Skating Rink where
my mother first taught me to skate.  I see my
tiny hands wrapped around my first dog, Kelly, and
the Beluga Whales at the Shedd Aquarium
in 1999.  There’s a six foot deep hole between us
that makes me wonder if cataracs eclipse your
perception of me like they do for everyone else—
I wonder if you worry about
teetering over the edge
                                          like
                                                   I do.
Two:
If I’ve learned anything from math class it’s that
a negative times a negative equals a positive so
I guess it’s a good thing when it comes to you and I, because
how else would two equally bashful people ever work
together in harmony?  But then what about science—
positives and negatives attract, so I must
be the latter of the two in this electrical charge
         electrical attraction
         sparks fly
         fires rise
other cliched forms of saying that I just like
when your hands are on my hips and your
lips are on my neck and somewhere
in the back of my mind, I hope to God
that this new age romance is not all for naught.

Three:
I met the devil when I kissed your lips.
God was pushed out when the space between us
shrunk and shrunk until there was not enough
room for air nor biblical commandments nor morality nor logic.
We fell together, tumbling over the clouds like the
awkward first steps of a child, unsure and panicked;
our clipped wings, like birds in captivity, did nothing to
prevent us from ripping the pages of His thick book
and mixing and matching His words—
“burn[ing] with passion,” “two shall become one flesh—”
we folded them into fortune tellers.

Four:
When you first told me that you thought I was beautiful,
I did not believe you.  You looked so unsure of yourself—eyes
downcast, bottom lip tucked between your teeth—that I thought,
“How can this this wide-eyed boy think that he can
spot constellations that the Greeks and the Egyptians overlooked?”
Then I realized that the words that spewed from your
blood stained lips were stars of your own creation.  Somehow
you compressed and fused your perception of me with
interstellar matter and birthed a new stencil in the sky.  You
created a cynosure of me.  You look at me like you’re
gazing at Polaris, a perfect doll like Helen or Marilyn;
something I am not.
But I like it.

Five:
We make up Sirius, the Dog Star—
you, the primary, and I, the companion, we are
the brightest in the heavens.  Canis Major would
be nothing without us.  Circling one another in a far,
spread out pace, we take our time in dissecting
one another’s intentions.  You are my horoscope and
I am your zodiac sign; both born in the year of the pig
we display the raw, open wounds of altruism to one another.
I wonder when you look in the mirror,
if the reflection that you see is that of the Milky Way;
the barred spiral that contains
our solar system
our planet
my
      home.

If being with you would mean spewing galaxies
from my lips for the rest of my days, I would
gladly regurgitate a whole new universe
just to hold your hand.

A wizard of words,
he created from nowhere,
a wonderful space;
        the novelist made
        his characters play out his wishes,
through every little action, he penned
felt euphoric beyond words.

When one among them
 clearly his blue eyed girl
on whom he showered a lot,
his thoughts, writer's craft
             and  much much more,
  to make  her
  well shaped, a cynosure,
unexpectedly
turned cheeky and crossed limits,
the novelist got terribly annoyed.

*In the dead of night,
during a rendezvous with her paramour
the character had a
horrifying end.
She fell prey  
to an assassination plot,
hatched by the  patriarchal novelist

I am lying here in bed
trying to remember the softest parts of your neck
where I kissed you
and how your lips felt
pushed into mine

but the memory is fuzzy
and unclear.

I was drunk that night
and you were drunk that night.
You were drunk for the first time in your life
and to this day,
I feel as if I took advantage of you.
I feel like I stripped
some sort of innocence from you,
even though I know
that you were never innocent
to begin with.

I am starting to believe
that it shouldn't have even happened.
I am beginning to wonder
where we would be
if I had never exploited an imaginary innocence
that creeps beneath our clothes.

I am starting to believe
that that night was an accident.
But it is no accident
that when our bodies were pressed together,
our hearts beat in synch.
It is not an accident
that when I see you now,
my heart is suddenly filled with stones
and my airways are suddenly blocked.
They are blocked with that same innocence
I stole from you almost three months ago.

I guess you could say that this is only a crush.
But thank God it is,
because love ******* hurts
and how I know I would rather be crushed
than hurt you.

All I want now is to see you.
I don't even need to talk to you;
just having you breathing in the same room
is overwhelming.

The pen is mightier
Than the sword
But what to consider
The keyboard?

How many stanzas
Phrases
Words
Must I conflate
To imbue in you
My love?

Is there no panacea,
No way for me to convey
The hold on my soul?
My heart
My being~
Such dulcet thoughts!
Your eyes,
{My cynosure}

Pure felicity
So lovely
A million ships at the ready
The cue being
the sight of your smile.
Helen is such a fugacious
Pipe dream fixation
When compared to your gaze

Until then,
Try as I might,
The depth of my feelings
Remains the deep ocean
Only a ripple wavers
At your knees
The rest waiting
For the Golden Bird
Of language
To release it's curse
Mere English isn't sufficient.

Sometimes all the love you give
Is returned with a resounding deceit
Believing all the while, you are the cynosure
Yet, the centripetal force keeps you moving
Apparently, in sync with the lovers heart
When you realize, the asynchronous beats
But words are betraying the innermost deceit
Cracks appear, yet we turn a blind eye
Until it’s too late, when we stare at a wide chasm
All you want is to plunge into the darkness
Emotions run chaotically around the heart
Ripping away the veneer of love
Falsifying all beliefs, redeeming hurt
Eroding away the base of the relationship
It’s all there, in the saga of pseudo love

Wearing Solomons seal as a garland
With crocotto eyes under the tongue
My cynosure and I actuate and
Much alike the conversation of
Simurgh and King Solomon exchange
A solipsistic lingering stare
Fraught with meaning;
Now like an Oozlum bird wearing
Luned's ring stuck in ones gizzards
I fly, no sooner than to be one flesh
Brandishing the tears and sweat of
Tiamut and Apsu with exhaustive
Philosophical certitude kindling
The fires of adulation.


Eleete j Muir.

Under the spell of the milky way's surge
an illusion  past a zillion  light years,
among a million things dull and bright
flashing messages like crazy fireflies,
all the time demanding my attention,
how did, just you became my cynosure?
As I sit amazed like a kid on an ocean shore
foolishly start to analyze, without knowing
how to go about it, except dreaming  in poetry,
my eyes catch the same  galaxy in my veins
in your eyes churn, to catch the essence of this spell.
And I realize : you too are like me,  puzzled
about this magical conspiracy of stellar configuarations
that make the star dust within us attract each other.